


words are knives (and often leave scars)

by sirenofodysseus



Category: The Mentalist
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Angst, H/C Bingo: 2016, Kinda non-con, Language, M/M, Nobody Follows Boundaries, References to Drugs, poor jane, prompt: forced marriage, sexy talk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-27
Updated: 2016-06-27
Packaged: 2018-07-18 12:54:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7315954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sirenofodysseus/pseuds/sirenofodysseus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Nobody just up and decides they want to marry their enemy in a lavish ceremony, involving a dozen turtle doves, a six-layer chocolate cake and some minister he found on Craigslist.” Aside from Red John, of course. Red John/Patrick Jane.</p>
            </blockquote>





	words are knives (and often leave scars)

**Author's Note:**

> It's the lovely time of year where I get new H/C prompts and I attempt to play H/C Bingo. This fic fills my prompt square for "Forced Marriage" and is probably one of those fics, where I side-eye myself for even attempting to explain why I wrote this. Instead, I blame my muse.

            “Do you understand how truly difficult it is to find a minister, who marries the unwilling?” Red John asked calmly, sipping his tea while Patrick Jane remained restrained to the chair at the head of the dining table. Jane attempted to remove the restraints from his wrists, but Red John’s nonchalant behavior told him he wasn’t escaping anytime soon. “Apparently, it’s both illegal and immoral to perform a marriage ceremony on the unwilling.” Red John paused, shrugging as he stared at Jane. “But what can one do? We live in a society, where simpletons place all of their hopes and dreams in the presence of a false idol.” Jane blinked, the ball gag in his mouth making it impossible to talk beyond his mutters of distain for once again being in Red John’s _care_. “You see the difficulties of our underlying predicament, don’t you?” If Jane had been able to speak, he would have congratulated the psychopath for having _finally_ lost all his sanity. There was no way in _hell_ he would walk down any aisle for the serial killer, no matter how much his very survival depended on it. Red John frowned and tilted his head. “I must admit, your silence is not quite as picturesque as I anticipated. Craig? Could you fix this, please?” From his spot beside Red John, Craig O’Laughlin nodded and moved to yank the gag from Jane’s mouth. Jane sputtered, side eyeing the smirking O’Laughlin.

            “No wonder your father disowned you when Red John took your virginity.” Jane took a small amount of pride in O’Laughlin’s disappearing smirk. “One has to ask though, Craig, do you enjoy the feeling of his hand up your ass? Or do you just truly enjoy being mounted like the sad, pathetic animal you are?”

            “Funny,” O’Laughlin answered dryly. “I was considering on asking Agent Lisbon that same question when I brought her to Red John as a wedding present.” Jane jerked against the rope restraints, forcing both men to chuckle. Although his status as captive hadn’t been arranged on the guarantee that Lisbon would remain unharmed, he had hoped that no escaping—especially after Lorelei Martins had offered him a way out—would have garnered him a little leeway with Red John and co.; but of course, Red John wasn’t humane enough to understand basic emotions. Or, at the very least, understand the ideals of common decency.

            “Now, now Craig,” Red John replied, wagging his finger in response. “You were not supposed to ruin the grand surprise. Everyone knows, after all, gift giving does not happen at the actual…”

            “Craig _wouldn’t_ actually know that though, would he?” Jane interceded, smirking at the dark-haired acolyte, who had his arms crossed against his chest. “After all, he _did_ attempt to kill the only woman, naïve enough to actually fall for his brand of common-place stupidity.” O’Laughlin grimaced and Jane shrugged. “Glad I didn’t buy that toaster for you both after all, actually. Heard the return policy involved bloodletting and the eleventh circle of hell, known more commonly as the customer service desk.”

            “You just couldn’t stay the hell out of the way, could you?” O’Laughlin snapped, before Jane felt the man’s hand wrap around his throat. Slowly suffocating, Jane attempted to kick his feet out at O’Laughlin, who seemed all too eager to kill him. Red John said nothing for a few moments, until Jane thought his lungs would burst due to the lack of oxygen.

            “So much hostility between my Best Man and future husband,” Red John commented with a pout. “Couldn’t you two just attempt to get along?” O’Laughlin finally released his throat and Jane gasped for oxygen, his heartbeat racing.

            “I’d rather piss myself, sir,” O’Laughlin replied stoically.

            “I’m sure…” Jane said, panting. “…that could be…arranged. You…sick fucks.” Both Red John and O’Laughlin glanced at him, before Red John started to laugh. The odd intonation from the serial killer had Jane flinch. Was he missing something? There was nothing hilarious about his predicament, aside from the fact that Red John was about to prove himself a psychopath _and_ a rapist.

            “Oh, _Patty_ ; please, save that delightfully dirty talk for our wedding night.” At that moment, however, instead of feeling nervous—Jane thought he was going to be sick.

 

::::

 

            Forced into a black tuxedo and accenting purple cummerbund, both men stood side-by-side at the floor length mirror, while O’Laughlin—in a white tuxedo with an accenting red cummerbund—held a kitchen knife pointed to Jane’s side.

            “To prevent you from attempting any inevitable feats of bravo, let me explain to you _exactly_ how this ceremony will proceed,” O’Laughlin muttered, his mouth barely moving. “You’ll walk down the aisle and say _I do_. Any deviation from the discussed plan and you won’t need to worry about what restraints Agent Lisbon and Company would look best in.” O’Laughlin paused to glance at him. “In fact, you won’t need to worry about anything as I’ll gut you myself and wear your lower intestines as a crown.”

            Jane eyed O’Laughlin’s reflection wearily. “You’re obviously far more invested into this farce of a wedding than I am.” When O’Laughlin said nothing immediately, Jane continued. “Why don’t you marry the psychopath with a predisposed merriment for bloodshed and children killing instead?”

            O’Laughlin turned slightly. “Firstly, I’m not gay…”

            “Well, I’m definitely not gay,” Jane interrupted, as he threw his hands into the air. “But I can also tell you that I’m not the one who purposely wore tight pants to attract attention.” Jane stared at O’Laughlin’s reflection again, noticing the obvious bulge down below. “Now, who that was for is between you, your crouch and those who stare, but I _do_ commend your bold fashion choice.”

            “Secondly,” O’Laughlin continued, poking the knife’s tip into Jane’s ribcage. Jane winced. “I am the right hand. The right hand and the mastermind do not marry, as it is a general sign of weakness across all societies.” The brunet paused to smirk briefly. “It’s probably why Agent Lisbon has kept her hands to her own cunt for all these years, instead of domesticating you.”

            “It’s also because she has _boundaries_ ,” Jane replied, eyeing the man. “You _do_ know what boundaries are, don’t you?” O’Laughlin poked him again with the knife’s tip, obviously unamused. “They’re the things that are taught early on in life as being things you shouldn’t do; and I can tell you, _O’Laughlin_ , forced marriages are not okay. I shouldn’t have to suffer for your inability to service your master with half-assed blowjobs.”

            “You shouldn’t be so vulgar, Patrick,” O’Laughlin replied in distain. “Then again, it’s probably one of the various reasons he’s attracted to you.”

            “It might also have something to do with the fact he’s clinically insane?” Jane stated with a shrug. How could O’Laughlin _not_ see that his master was off his rocker? “Nobody _just_ up and decides they want to marry their enemy in a lavish ceremony, involving a dozen turtle doves, a six-layer chocolate cake and some minister he found on Craigslist.” Jane shook his head and crossed his arms against his chest, unamused at the entire situation.  

            “And you have shot at random targets because of your obviously _poor_ judgment of my leader. You have insulted and threatened various men and women,” O’Laughlin answered. “And you are _routinely_ punched in the nose for your accusations and assumptions.” Jane watched O’Laughlin gestured toward both of their reflections. “Instead of labelling my leader _clinically insane_ , why don’t you take a look in the mirror?”

            Jane did so. “Hm.” He tilted his head in an attempt to look serious. “Nope. Still think your boss is the problem. Sorry, Craig.” Jane watched O’Laughlin grit his teeth, before he felt O’Laughlin’s fist slam into his cheek.

 

::::

 

            Per discussion, Jane slowly stepped down the blood-soaked path into Red John’s study as the wedding march played. O’Laughlin stood to the right of Red John, who unsurprisingly wore a red tuxedo with an accenting white cummerbund. Jane’s eyes flickered to the spot he’d eventually be forced to stand on as he said _I do_ , only to spot the members of the Serious Crimes Unit. He managed to school his features into one of indifference at the sight of Rigsby, Cho, Lisbon and Van Pelt all standing and obviously gagged in outfits of purple and black. Unable to view them without ignoring O’Laughlin’s previous threat, Jane could only assume Red John had drugged each of them into compliancy—especially with the way someone had forced Lisbon into a hideous maid-of-honor outfit.

            Any other time, there would have been a comment made about the ungodly layers of lace attached to the bodice of Lisbon’s dress; but as he had no idea what other instructions Red John (or his company) had given the team, Jane kept quiet and kept moving with a bouquet of red lilies in his bound hands.

 

            “You look quite dashing, Patrick,” Red John commented with a wide smile as Jane turned to face him and the wedding march ended. “A tuxedo does so much more for you than a silly three-piece suit.” With a grimace, Jane decided he was going to burn the tuxedo the first moment he could escape safely from Red John’s clutches. Red John turned to the minister and nodded. “You may proceed now.”

            When Jane had married Angela, all of those years ago, the wedding ceremony had involved laughter and two individuals very much in love. Their minister, at Angela’s insistence, had been young and had allowed for anyone (aside from Danny) to protest their union in holy matrimony. Red John, on the other hand, had found a minister who had gone straight from, “We are gathered here today…” to “Do you, Red John, take Patrick Jane as your unlawfully wedded husband?” in a matter of minutes to an otherwise empty room.

            “I do.”

            “And do you, Patrick Jane, take Red John as your unlawfully wedded husband?” And as much as Jane wanted to yell _I don’t_ , the smirks from both Red John and O’Laughlin filled the pit of his stomach with dread. He had no fears about O’Laughlin forming crowns and jewels with his harvested body organs, as he had nothing else to live for aside from vengeance—but the team’s continued presence made him say,

            “I do.”

Red John’s wide smile and subtle nod in acceptance did nothing to settle his churning stomach.

            “By the power vested in me by the state of California,” the minister continued forth, ignoring the brief exchange between the two. “I now pronounce you husband and husband. You may _now_ kiss the groom.”

            Jane nearly vomited the little tea that Red John had been _kind_ enough to provide earlier, while he jerked himself backwards from Red John’s outreached hands. “No.”

            Red John’s smile instantly disappeared. “You’ve been married before, Patrick. You knew this was going to occur, thus Craig felt no need to instruct you on how to properly kiss.”

            O’Laughlin chuckled, smirking. “Ah. I knew I was forgetting to mention something during our discussion earlier.” While he was typically against violence for various reasons, most of them involving guns, Jane had no qualms about attempting to close the distance between himself and O’Laughlin. Before he could land a hit though, Jane felt Red John’s arms wrap tight around his waist and yank him backwards.

            “Do not make me drug you, Patrick,” Red John warned, still holding tight. “Craig will be punished for his incompetence, fret not. However,” he dropped his voice into a whisper. “I am not above forcing you into a state of total compliance, especially if you continue to misbehave.”  Jane stilled at Red John’s threat. “There’s my good, _obedient_ husband. Now,” Red John released him. “Where were we?”  

            “You were about to kiss him, sir,” O’Laughlin reminded and Red John nodded, smiling once again.

            “Ah, yes,” Red John replied. Jane inhaled deeply while Red John’s fingers buried themselves in his curls. “Come here, husband of mine.” Rigidly, Jane beckoned. He allowed Red John’s grasp to guide him as his head tilted to allow the man’s lips to brush against his in a chaste kiss. The sound of gentle applause eventually forced the two apart, but not before Red John’s hand had settled against his hip.

            “I present to you,” the minister continued, after Red John had forced the both of them to face the exit, “Patrick and Red John.”


End file.
